Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

AN: Well...after a long wait, I give you the final chapter of 'The Sign of Three'...chapter's a bit longer than the others, and if you feel it skims rather quickly, I'm sorry, just wanted to finish this while I still had inspiration for this. Already begun 'His Last Vow', but will take some time before it gets posted. Think of this as a...10 day late Christmas present!

Much thanks to floratang, Sweetydu972, blotus and the Guest reviewer for reviewing!

floratang: Already planning a possible one-shot about the party for Nero and Sherlock!

Chapter 11:

Irene turned to her lover, mind no doubt racing as fast, if not, faster than hers as they racked their brains. Sholto was keeping up a monologue that she could care less about, even as Sherlock replied onto how could he solve the case when he couldn't not too long ago.

Mary's assurance was quiet as Irene and Sherlock looked at one another. Irene thought hard, ignoring Sherlock's conversation. Their uniforms...all of them were wearing uniforms...

She looked up at Sherlock. 'Darling. The uniforms.' All she knew was that this was something important. She couldn't finish the thought, but Sherlock sure could. His eyes lightened up, and she grinned knowingly. He had solved it. He turned to her, kissing her briefly, before knocking on the door rapidly.

He turned to Mary, grinning delightedly, adding, as if just to prove a point, 'Though, in fairness, he's a drama queen too.'

'Yeah, I know.' Mary responded quickly as Sherlock turned back to the door.

'Major Sholto, no one's coming to kill you. I'm afraid you've already been killed several hours ago already.'

'What did you say?' the voice coming from inside the hotel room was tinted with incredulousness.

Irene's mind caught up as she helped Sherlock. 'Don't take off your belt, Major!'

'My belt?' now, it seemed as if he thought both of them had lost their minds. Irene supposed it seemed like it, if they told someone to do something like that.

'His belt, yes. Bainbridge was stabbed hours before we eve saw him, but it was through his belt. Tight belt, worn high on the waist. Very easy to push a small blade through the fabrid and you wouldn't even feel it.'

John nodded, but it was Irene who continued. 'The belt binds the flesh together when tied tight, and when you took it off,'

'Delayed action stabbing. All the time in the world to create an alibi.' Sherlock finished.

'So-' Major Sholto's vice sounded from inside his room. 'I was to be killed by my uniform. How appropriate.' The last sentence was spat out with bitterness. Irene frowned.

Mary seemed to sense the threat like Irene did. 'He solved the case, Major. You're supposed to open the door now. A deal is a deal.'

Sholto continued on, as if Mary hadn't spoken at all. 'I'm not even supposed to have this anymore. They gave me special dispensation to keep it. I couldn't imagine life out of this uniform. I suppose – given the circumstances, I don't have to.' Irene shot Sherlock a worried glance. 'When so many want you dead, it hardly seems good manners to argue.'

'Whatever you're doing in there, James, stop it. Right now. I will kick this door down.' John was now finally in on what they had been worried about.

'Mr. Holmes, you and I are similar, I think.'

Sherlock immediately stepped forward, John moving back.

'Yes, I think we are.'

'There's a proper time to die, isn't there?'

'Of course there is.' Sherlock said in his matter-of-fact tone, but there was a clear hint of worry behind it as he wondered about the Major's next move.

'And one should embrace it when it comes – like a soldier.'

Irene shot Sherlock a worried look as he spoke out in his rapid-fire speak. His voice was firm. 'Of course one should, but not at John's wedding. We wouldn't do that, would we – you and me? We would never do that to John Watson.'

Irene could see John looking touched for a moment, before firmness take over as silence reigned inside.

He made up his mind. 'I'm going to break it down.'

'No, wait, wait, you won't have to!' Mary intervened quickly.

John turned to her, head tilted, even as the door opened. Irene didn't miss the look Sholto gave Sherlock, before turning to John. 'I believe I am in need of medical attention.'

'I believe I am your doctor.'

Following Sholto inside, Mary gave Sherlock a quick smile. Sherlock turned to Irene, who kissed him briefly, before pushing him in. Nero, who had been quiet all this time, looking at them worriedly, now began to fuss. Irene smiled at her child, before moving back to the wedding hall.

Irene walked around. She was looking for Sherlock, having asked everyone about him already. After Mary noted that he had disappeared off with Janine, she tried to quell the feeling in her chest. No, she was not feeling jealous, thank you very much.

She noticed them in a room, where Sherlock did a perfect pirouette. Chuckling, she entered the room just as Janine said 'I wish you weren't...'

When Sherlock turned to her, Janine noticed Irene – without Nero for once, and spoke quickly. '...whatever it is you are.'

John joined them, walking in. 'Well, glad to see you've pulled through, Sherlock, what with murderers running riot at my wedding.' he clapped Sherlock on the back, his eyes crinkling slightly in fond amusement, even as his tone remained sarcastic.

'One murder – one nearly murderer.' Sherlock corrected quickly. Irene smiled.

'Indeed, John.'

John frowned as Sherlock turned to Janine. 'Loves to exaggerate. You should try living with him.'

Lestrade came in at the moment as he gestured for someone to enter. 'Got him for you, Sherlock.'

Sherlock clapped his hands together as his eye catches Irene's. 'Good.'

'The photographer?' John asked, curious.

'Er, may I have a look at your camera?' the photographer looked at him strangely, though there was a hint of nervousness to him.

'What's this about? I was halfway home!'

'You should have driven faster.' Sherlock's voice was cold before he smiled as he flicked through the pictures. 'Ah, yes. Yes, very good. There, you see? Perfect.'

'What is? You gonna tell us?' Lestrade asked, confused.

'Try looking yourself.' Sherlock said, handing the camera to Lestrade. John peered over, also confused.

'Look for what exactly?' John frowned at the camera. 'Is the murderer in these photographs?'

'It's not what's in the photographs-'

'Darling,' Irene interrupted. 'As much as I would love to see the looks of bewilderment on their faces-' Mary came in at that moment, looking confused at the commotion. 'I need to remind you that you have to remember that the dance is in less than five minutes. You have to wrap it up quickly, darling.'

Sherlock pouted, but obliged. 'There is always a man at a wedding who is not in any photograph but can go anywhere, and even carry a equipment bag around with him if he likes, and you never even see his face. You only ever see...'

'The camera.' Irene finished for him.

A sharp click, and the photographer was handcuffed to the birdcage luggage trolley.

'What are you doing? What is this?'

Sherlock turned back to the crowd as he held up his phone. 'Jonathan Small, today's substitute wedding photographer – known to us as the Mayfly Man. His brother was one of the raw recruits killed in that incursion. Jonny sought revenge on Sholto...'

'Worked his way through Sholto's staff, found what he needed – an invitation to a wedding.' Irene continued.

Sherlock nodded. 'The one time Sholto would have to be out in public. So he made his plan, and rehearsed the murder, making sure of every last detail.' he turned back to Small. 'Brilliant, ruthless, almost certainly a monomaniac, though, in fairness, his photographs are actually quite good.' he tossed his phone to Lestrade. 'Everything you need's on that. You probably ought to...arrest him or something.'

Janine leaned in to Sherlock. 'Do you always carry handcuffs?'

Irene raised an eyebrow as Sherlock replied. 'Down, girl.'

'Come on, quick!' Mary beckoned to John. 'Everyone's waiting.'

Small frowned as he looked at Sherlock. 'It's not me you should be arresting, Mr. Holmes.'

'Oh, I don't do the arresting. I just farm that out.'

'Sholto,' Small said, as if Sherlock hadn't spoken at all. 'He's the killer, not me. I should have killed him quicker.' For a brief second, a maniac smile adorned his face. Irene tensed, ready to act if Small even touched Sherlock. Sherlock looked back at him.

'You should have driven faster.'

He offered his arm to Janine, who took it. He gave Irene a brief smile, before turning to leave.

Irene smiled back, before following them out of the hall, with John and Mary not too far behind.

Irene laughed quietly to herself as the single violin played out. John dipped Mary down, resulting in a gasp from Mary, as she grinned at John. The mostly silent hall was interrupted by Nero's 'Oooh!' at this action, resulting in many laughs, even from the bride and groom themselves.

Nero's hands were out grabbing air, but Irene patted them down. 'No, sweetheart. This is their moment, not yours.'

As if pouting, Nero turned away from Irene.

Irene shook her head at her son's dramatics, before turning back to smile at Sherlock, who had a similar grin in place, clearly having already seen Nero's action.

When the song finished, she joined in on the applause, Nero attempting to clap as well.

Irene smiled at the speech that Sherlock gave afterwards, promising to 'be there for the three-two of them.'

She made her way to them as John asked what had happened, resulting in Sherlock immediately starting his deductions. Irene had reached close enough to understand roughly what he was talking about.

She reached them in time to hear Mary's 'I'm pregnant, I'm panicking.'

'Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Watson.'

Mary turned to her, face full of shocked delight. 'I'm guessing you telling him didn't end up like this?'

Irene laughed. 'I told him when we were escaping from a building with men firing from all directions. Completely caught him off-guard. We left, soon had Nero.' Nero gurgled happily, as if sensing they were talking about him.

'Me! Ne-wo!' they stared at him, before Irene sighed.

'Why am I not surprised that your first few words would have to do with yourself and your name, Nero?'

Nero seemed pleased with himself despite Irene's expression. 'Ne-wo! NE-WO!'

'Yes, yes, no need to scream. Everyone here already knows.' Sherlock calmed their son down, who clapped his hands at his father, twisting out of his mother's grip.

Sherlock accepted him, with Nero cooing as he reached Sherlock.

'Oh god...' Mary seemed to realise something now. 'I'm pregnant.'

Irene laughed as Sherlock frowned incredulously. 'You'll be great parents, that's for sure. Look at all the practice that you've had!'

'What practice?' John frowned.

'Well, you're hardly going to need me or Nero around now that you've got your own real baby coming along.'

Irene laughed, seeing Nero's delighted face as he spoke. 'Ne-wo!'

'Ne-ro.' Sherlock corrected his son.

Nero's face scrunched up. 'Ne-rwo.' Close enough.

'Go on, dance.' Sherlock encouraged them.

'What about you?' Mary asked.

Irene smiled. 'Don't worry about him, Mary.'

John grinned as Mary looked at Sherlock. 'I expect all three of you still here at the end of this wedding party.'

'That might be pushing it.' Irene noted. 'Nero needs to sleep soon.'

'Fine. One of you will stay.' Mary grinned. 'Maybe Sherlock. After all, we need to start planning your and Nero's birthday party!'

She led John away, laughing with Irene as Sherlock looked at her in alarm. 'What?'

But he got no reply. He turned to Irene, but she merely smiled and shook her head, taking up Nero, who, despite his earlier enthusiasm, was already looking tired. 'I'll put him to sleep.'

She kissed Sherlock briefly. 'See you later, darling.'